


Raven Ringlets and Temptations

by Julie_Jeanette



Series: There's No Question [1]
Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: And that includes LeFou, Canon - Movie, During the 5 Days Gaston is "Looking for Maurice", Gaston being Gaston, Hinted LeFou angst, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Secret Crush, Set around mid-movie, Sitting in church, Stanley considers the priesthood, Stanley just wants to touch LeFou's hair, Temptation, Those raven curls, he likes pretty things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-28 02:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10822167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julie_Jeanette/pseuds/Julie_Jeanette
Summary: Stanley is sitting in church. Gaston and Lefou come into the service late, and Lefou happens to sit in front of Stanley.Pere Robert is giving a liturgy, but all Stanley wants to do is touch Lefou's beautiful hair, and try to start a conversation about what is bothering him. Secret crush and fluff. Oneshot. Enjoy!





	Raven Ringlets and Temptations

Stanley stood next to Dick and his wife in St. Lucien's Church of Villeneuve as Pere Robert gave the formal liturgy. He sang along with the callbacks in his gentle, quiet tenor, the memorized Latin phrases giving him a sense of peace and strength. He breathed in the scent of the incense the altar boys had carried, loving it and the memories it held. 

The beautiful stained glass window- an image of Mary and the Christ Child- was illuminated by the rays of the springtime sun. Mary's robe was a brilliant sapphire, the Child's face a bright pink, while ruby red roses trimmed the edges of the window scene. 

This church had been built nearly a century ago, and it still looked as fresh and inviting as ever. 

Stephan Laurent had been practically raised here, along with his older brother Richard and their lifelong friend, Thomas Armand. Stanley, Tom, and Dick had been the altar boys long ago. The smell of the incense always evoked his childhood, a carefree, happy time filled with picnics and climbing trees after chores.

Tom's wedding to Marie had taken place here ten years ago, followed by Dick's wedding to Marie's sister Martine six years ago. 

Four years ago, he'd wept with Dick and Martine in the church’s cemetery yard as they buried their baby boy, Jean-Paul, who succumbed to a fever. Stanley had also been here for the baptism of Dick and Martine’s new, healthy baby daughter Cecile. He was appointed her Godfather. 

Little Cecile, his niece, babbled loudly on Martine’s lap; he could hear her insistent 'shh.'

Pere Robert asked the congregation to greet one another in peace. “Peace be with you,” Dick said to Stanley with his goofy, sheepish grin, reaching out his hand to shake it.

“And also with you,” Stanley replied, shaking his older brother’s hand while trying to suppress a chuckle. 

As always, Dick had imbibed in a little too much beer last night. He'd been a heavy drinker ever since the loss of his first child. Stanley couldn't help but feel that the nights at the tavern were an escape from a cottage that should have held two children, not one. 

Dick had managed to sleep it off and get himself cleaned up and to church on time with his wife and little girl. Stanley reached over to shake Martine’s hand, and give a loving stroke to little Cecile’s round pink cheek. The toddler grinned at her favorite uncle; she reached out her tiny hand. Stanley shook it gently, returning the grin which made Cecile laugh. Stanley was just turning around to sit down after the interchange with his niece when he noticed that two men had shown up to church late. 

Gaston Legume, the war hero who had bought two of Stanley’s drinks last night, had arrived, trailed by a rather self-conscious Lefou. Gaston wore his beige military coat trimmed with scarlet. He gave a welcoming grin and wave to the entire congregation, causing a hum of voices to greet him back, before he sat down in the pew directly in front of Tom. 

Lefou, in his blue overcoat, raven hair pulled back into a ponytail, quietly took a seat next to him. He also sat directly in front of Stanley. 

Lefou’s ponytail was secured in a thin burgundy ribbon today, matching his velvet waistcoat. The ponytail had somehow split into two perfect, springy little curls that hung down to his soft-skinned neck. He had ringlets. 

Ringlets. 

They moved slightly when Lefou turned his head towards Gaston for a split second. Besides his glossy raven curls, Stanley could now see the curve of his lovely pink cheek (blushing in the presence of Gaston?) covered in neatly trimmed dark sideburn. His eyelashes were visible for a split second before he turned to face the front again. 

His ringlets gave a little swing, their damp sheen (had he just taken a shower?) catching the light.

Stanley’s heart began to tighten in his chest, almost painfully. The delicious androgyny of this young man intrigued him, though he was more masculine than girlish in appearance. There was something they had in common, but Stanley couldn't put his finger on it. Well, maybe he could, but it was not for open conversation. Lefou's unique energy, though, could always light up a room. 

In Stanley's eyes, he was the center of the tavern’s cheer- more so than the domineering war hero or the flowing drinks. The vibrant boy with the golden singing voice, dancing feet, and merry heart. The enigma that was Étienne Lefou. 

Étienne.

No one ever called him that. He deserved to be called that. It was a handsome name. He was too wonderful, too beautiful to be only called ‘the fool.’ 

Dear, sweet Étienne...Mon Dieu…Forgive me, Father, I took your name in vain again.

Stanley swallowed the lump in his throat. He was an especially sensitive and appreciative admirer of beauty. It was a blessing, but could also be a curse. 

Some forms of beauty brought such joy in his life. Beauty in music, such as the church pipe organ’s melodies. The loveliness of that stained glass window he'd beheld a few minutes earlier. The beauty in the deep, soothing voice of Pere Robert, giving his sermon and readings which switched back and forth from Latin to French and back again. 

Beauty in little Cecile’s smile and laugh. Beauty in the ladies’ and girls’ dresses; the flowing skirts of bright colored fabric, trimmed with lace and bows and rosettes. 

He admired women's clothing more than he admired women themselves. They were just there, like decorative flowers with their flounced garments and beribboned headwear. They were like aliens, hard to talk to or converse with except for his own mother and sister in law. 

He knew he was...odd. He had no desire to touch the skin or caress the body of one of them. Tom and Dick’s words chastised him every single day. They never ceased to 'help' him with his nonexistent love life.

“We gotta find you a wife, Stan! Has to be one you like, isn't there?”

“Quit being so damn shy! Here's two sous, Stanley. Buy one of those blondes over there a drink. They're pretty, aren't they?”

“Stan, I saw Fleur in the fruit market again today. She stares at you, you don't notice. Next time she's there, strike up a conversation, for God’s sake!”

Sometimes Dick’s teasing went a bit off-color. “It’s gonna fall off, mon frere! You never use it!” 

His mother was the most perplexed of all. “Perhaps the priesthood is your calling, Stanley, since you are still unmarried at your age, with no lady love. You should speak with the Pere. I think you would be a wonderful man of the cloth.” 

Perhaps Maman was right. The church was usually Stanley’s sanctuary, where he could bask in the incense, the liturgy, the beautiful windows, the comfort of God’s House. 

But now HE was here.

Why did God have to torment Stanley today by causing such breathtaking beauty to rest right in front of him? The kind of beauty that stirred up his most secret sins of yearning? 

Stanley’s right hand clenched so hard it began to tremble. He wanted so much to reach forward and touch those damn ringlets. His arm muscle tensed as it willed his hand to stay still. 

His eyes tried to peel themselves from the sight of Lefou’s hair. He glanced up at the Virgin Mary and Child in stained glass, enjoying the shimmer of the sun through the red roses, the hue lightened now, from cherry-red to fuschia. 

The color of Lefou’s favorite bow tie. 

He tried to follow along with Pere Robert's sermon, but he was speaking Latin again. Stanley didn't understand Latin. But he listened to it anyway, because the language was pretty. 

“Credo in Deum Patrem omnipotentem, Creatorem caeli et terrae. Et in Iesum Christum…” 

Pere Robert raised his hands and invited the people to sing a callback after him once more. 

“Qui conceptus est de Spiritu Sancto, natus ex Maria Virgine…” 

Stanley sang softly. He could hear other distinct voices in front of him, including a beautiful tenor one. Two nights before on Friday, that same voice was singing about Gaston’s ability to break hearts, throw darts, wrestle like a warrior, and bite his tummy. Stanley clenched his fists harder when he heard a familiar, low baritone coming from the tall hunter nearby, singing the holy, reverent phrases. 

Damned hypocrite. But then, so was Stanley. 

His eyes fell upon those two ringlets again. He wondered what they would feel like if he touched them. 

Well, for heaven’s sake, they likely feel like hair! What is the big deal? 

He lazily moved his hand up and touched his own hair, his dark brown wavy ponytail and the curls at his temples. There was no pleasure in that. 

Why did he think it would feel like such ultimate heaven to touch and caress the ponytail of his male neighbor in front of him?

Who happened to be Gaston’s best friend, not his? 

Who was merely a casual acquaintance? Who would toss him one of Gaston’s coins for a drink once in awhile, or gave him a playful tap on the head to pay attention to his song? 

‘C’mon guys, sing with me! Let’s cheer up our hero! He's had a bad day, he deserves the praise!’ 

Never a thought for himself, or his own comfort or well being. Always for HIM.

The taller man seated in front of Dick turned his head to the shorter man, whose brow and rapidly blinking brown eye had registered an expression of worry, of distress. Gaston’s striking hazel eyes narrowed, his manly brow furrowing at Lefou in some kind of silent admonishment. 

The ringlets swung as Lefou’s head snapped forward and down. It was time for silent prayer. 

Stanley's head bowed, and his mind wandered to the latest events around town. 

Where are Maurice and Belle? Gaston and Lefou both went out with the old fellow to humor him about this ‘beast,’ this animal in the woods, or whatever. Maurice and Belle aren’t back yet! 

What do they know? Was Gaston hiding something? Étienne looked...concerned and sad. 

I don't ONLY want to touch his hair, Stanley thought. I want to talk to him and find out what the hell is going on! Something isn't sitting right. Gaston doesn't like Monsieur Maurice. He won't give him his blessing to marry Belle. What has he done? 

Stanley was pulled out of his thoughts by Pere Robert’s voice, giving the closing prayers. 

Everyone's heads came up again. The dark ringlets in front of him swung like a clock pendulum, and they looked just like lovely little springs. Stanley knew that if he reached out and gently tugged at them with his fingers, he would feel the damp softness. And when he let them go, the curls would ‘boiing’ back into place. They might not actually make a ‘boiing’ sound, but Stanley would certainly imagine it in his head. 

“Pater Noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum.” 

He quietly recited along while he watched Lefou pick at some lint, or possibly his horse’s hair, on the shoulder of his blue coat. 

It was finally time for dismissal. 

A beast raging inside Stanley took control- he had an excuse now- and as the congregation stood, Stanley reached his hand forward...and caressed those two dark curls. 

They were just as he imagined. Soft, so wonderfully soft, cool, and slightly damp from bathing. He gave them a little pull. They bounced! Boiing! 

His ecstasy was short lived. Lefou turned around and gave him a questioning look. “Oh! Hi, Stanley!” he greeted. Always so friendly.

“Hi, Lefou! You had, um, something in your hair. Lint, I think.”

“Heh!” he chuckled softly. “Okay. Thanks.” 

The man’s ruby lips parted in a soft smile, the enchanting little gap between his front teeth showing. It was similar to the smile he always aimed at Gaston, just not as big. Understated. 

His deep brown eyes beheld Stanley's with an alluring twinkle as he touched his hair and brushed his own fingers through it.

“Ahem!” Gaston cleared his throat loudly. He moved his impressive body forward so that he stood between Stanley and Lefou. 

“Good day, Stanley. Dick. Martine.” Gaston greeted each person in the pew behind him with a polite nod, including little Cecile in her mother’s arms. 

“She's growing like a weed, now, isn't she?” he boomed. His voice was always so loud. Whenever Gaston spoke, every head turned to listen. 

“She is,” replied Martine. 

Stanley used that moment to study Lefou and his expression. His eyes were fixed on Gaston again. They were slightly red and bloodshot, and Stanley could sense discomfort behind the polite smile. 

“Have a good day, Lefou,” Stanley said in a slightly cracked voice.

“Oh, uh...you, too, Stanley!” He fixed sad eyes on Stanley with a forced little smile. His smile did not cause his sweet plump cheeks to rise, the way his typical smile usually did. 

“Have...has anyone found Belle? What about Maurice? Has Gaston had any luck with the search?” Stanley added in a low voice. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gaston exchanging a few words with Tom. Gaston was laughing, a loud guffaw.

Lefou’s smile faded. His eyes widened; just a tiny smidgen. The expression he put on was hard for Stanley to pinpoint for certain, but it was clearly discomfort. Lefou was not one to keep a perfect poker face.

“No,” he whispered. “I...I wish we-”

“Lefou!” Gaston boomed, giving his ponytail a playful muss. “Let’s go now, shall we?” 

He gave his friend’s shoulder two rapid pats, much like one would pat his hunting hound on the flank for excellent tracking, before throwing him a scrap of meat. A large arm wrapped itself around the shorter man’s hunched shoulder. He gave him a brief, firm push to the aisle, making Lefou walk in front of him for a change. 

Stanley watched as Gaston jovially steered Lefou down the aisle, then gracefully moved in front of him. As he walked, the crowds of families parted before him like the Red Sea, making way for him to pass through. Lefou took his usual position behind Gaston. Trailing him. Like a goddamned puppy dog. 

Stanley's eyes stung; the reason being something he didn't care to address as he watched the two men leave. Lefou’s two springy curls had been messed up a bit, he noticed. He wished...prayed...he would turn around and look back at him.

A second later, he did. He locked eyes with Stanley about four feet from the church’s front door. 

His expression was clear now. It seemed to say ‘Stanley, help me. Please. Something is happening that I wish I could stop, but I can't.’

Tears prickled at the back of Stanley’s eyes. He turned to pick up his bright red tricorne hat which he had left on the pew. His sister in law Martine addressed him, holding Cecile. “Stanley, can you join us for lunch? We’d love to have you," she offered. 

“Oui, Martine! I'd love to! I hope it's chicken!” he replied to Dick's wife, forcing a cheerful smile and gathering his little niece in his arms. He carried her out into the early summer sunshine with Dick, Martine, Tom, Marie, and Tom’s two boys, heading to Dick’s house for a traditional Sunday lunch. 

...

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little mid-movie one shot. 
> 
> ETA: This story is continued in a series with my latest fic, "There's No Question."


End file.
